


Crazy With a Cherry On Top

by orphan_account



Series: Adventures in Davey Vantas [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adopted Children, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Child Death, Crossdressing, Drug Use, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's a young boy who lost someone important to him.He doesn't know who.All he knows is cherries are a recurring theme of theirs.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Series: Adventures in Davey Vantas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881376
Kudos: 3





	Crazy With a Cherry On Top

**Author's Note:**

> This is an angsty side story from my other work- so it's set in the same universe but not 'canon' to that fluffy story. (Also yes there will be more to that story I'm working on chapter 2 and it's like... half done.)
> 
> There are some things in here that might not make sense because of chapter 2 not being uploaded but- I REALLY REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS- chapter 2 will happen for WMWYWYCBTPYNH (wow thats a long acronym holy shit)

He wasn't okay.

_ He wasn't okay. _

The young blonde stared into the mirror, taking in his pale complexion- ghostly white. The red eyes that used to shine like rubies were dull, the precious gems had lost their sparkle. A small pale hand, covered in bandages, set itself on the mirror.

There were breaks between the two images, a one-way mirror. Someone could've been watching him at this very moment. It's what his parents agreed to, they signed the paper work.

Though they did cry while doing so. His daddy- no… his father breaking down while his dad was teary-eyed. Signing their child away and into the facility. 

The scene changed in his mind. The room much darker, the hospital fluorescent lighting dimming. The light seemed to flicker, blood dripping down the mirror from his finger tips. Blood that wasn't his. Blood that was a bright candy red. Blood that spelt  _ 'What was his name?' _

The young boy didn't acknowledge it. He just turned his head down to look into the sink. The faucet reflected the mirror, so he again turned away to face the shower. A shower might be good to clear his mind.

He decided against it, blood from his imagination was dripping from the showerhead- splattering on the less than pristine tub. He took a step back from the mirror. There was someone he was forgetting. Someone important to him that the people here made him forget.

He doesn't know how they did it. A combination of therapy and drugs, suggestive hypnosis? There was a hole in his mind. Years were gone, and there was someone there that went with it. He knew the basics. He was on another planet, there was violence, there was someone there with him- they escaped the planet and lived on earth.

Wait. Was there? He couldn't remember. The room lit up again, his dull eyes searching around for the blood that was once there, but was now gone. A jingle rang out from a room adjacent to the small bathroom. It was a timer. A nurse was going to come in to give him his meds soon.

"Davey?" It was a cheery voice for such a drab place. "It's time for you to take your medicine." It spoke to him like he was a child. He was eighteen, he was technically an adult. "Davey, honey?" Right, he needed to go get them from her.

The boy turned and walked out of the bathroom, taking the cup from the nurse. He stared into it for a minute and then set it back on the little tray she brought with her. 

"Honey, you need to take them. They're going to help you." She moved the tray to one hand, holding the cup with brightly colored pills in it out to him.

He took it reluctantly, held the cup to his mouth and threw his head back. The second cup with water was handed to him, a small sip taken, and a quiet gulp. 

"Good job. I know you don't like it but it's helping you so much." She patted him on the head, the boy grimaced. Someone used to pat him on the head, someone that the pills took away from him. The nurse left with nothing more than a small smile, leaving the boy alone in the bedroom. The room didn't warp, the lights didn't flicker, it was just beiges and creams and the lights that made his eyes hurt. The bed was right behind him, so he sat down. The one item he could keep from his past life laid on top of the sheets by his pillow.

A tattered plush crab, it's been shown lot's of love over many years. The boy opened his mouth but words didn't come out, only mouthing the syllables of the crabs name.  _ Sir Reginald Arkingbok III _ is what the once young child had named it. A small smile formed when his lips had pressed together again. A pale hand, smaller than average for a boy his age grabbed one of the claws gently, pulling the crab toward him and into his lap.

It smelled like him.  Who? The boy didn't know, he couldn't remember. It smelled like cherries and apples. Apples meant the boy himself, but the cherry smell was the mystery man in his life. The crab plush was the only proof of the missing person's existence, whomever they may be. It was a surprise that the scent had lasted this long to begin with.

He held the crab to his face, taking a big whiff of the slightly dying scent. It always calmed him, better than the meds did. Better than therapy. The digital clock screamed at him, the green light didn't match the beige and cream of the rest of the room at all.

Therapy was in a few minutes. He needed to head over there. The boy set the crab back down, patting it softly before standing up. His bleach white sweater shifted, his beige sweat pants slipped down on his hips. He pulled the pants back up, tying off the string that were too short to hang himself with. He didn't know why he thought of that. Side effect of the meds. He took the keycard from his pocket, edible so people couldn't choke and die by eating them. The least bit of water or saliva caused them to disintegrate. He swiped it in the door lock, pocketing it after pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Kids lined the hallway, most younger than him. One girl was on the urge of a meltdown, the boy averting his eyes just in time for the scream. It stopped quickly though, people grabbing the girl and taking her away. 

His card worked for the room. Swiping it and entering the office of the facilities therapist.

"Have a seat Mr. Vantas." Ghost boy listened, sitting on the couch across from the doctor. Impressive PHDs lined the walls. Psychology, Psychiatry… "Your parents are getting married. Did you know about that yet?" He shook his head. He was never told anything. "Your parents want you to attend, do you want to?" 

Of course he did, dreams of being the flower boy (he didn't want to be the ring bearer- that was stupid in his mind) a lovely pastel red dress on his shoulders and stopping mid shin. He nodded to the doctor, hearing the scribbling. "You can't go unless you put in some effort. You haven't spoken a word since you got here." He knew that and shrugged, even though he wasn't asked a question. "Do you want a paper pad and pen?" A hesitant nod. 

_ "I want to go. Wanna be the flower boy." _ The therapist pushed their glasses up on their nose, scribbling some more.

"What's a flower boy?"

_ "Flower girl, but a boy does it instead." _ The therapist looked him in the eyes.

"I'll see what I can do about getting you released for the wedding. No promises it'll happen." A small smile crossed the boy's face. Ever since he was young it'd been a dream of his to throw those flower petals. "Have you been seeing things again?" Right, therapy. Sad stuff, not happy wedding things.

_ "Yes." _

"Like?" The lady crossed her legs, tapping her pen idly.

_ "The bright red liquid asking me for a name." _

"That all..?" She wrote something down. The blonde just handed the pad back to her. "I guess that's a yes." Some boxes were checked on a form, words circled. "You're making progress. I'll put in a good word for your temporary release. You may go now."

That was quick, but he didn't mind.

The boy's name was Davey Vantas.

And he was a resident at the Cadance Psychiatric Institution, a place for kids and young adults alike.

He was okay.

_ He was okay. _


End file.
